


Deserters We are Called

by Thuri



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-15
Updated: 2006-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home and settled in the Shire once more, will Frodo ever find the same peace as his companions?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deserters We are Called

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2006 Two Lines Challenge.

_Deserters we are called  
Chose a gun and threw away the sun_  
-Bad Company by Bad Company

1420: The Great Year of Plenty  
November 3: A celebration is held to mark the first anniversary of the Battle of Bywater

 

The first anniversary of the Battle of Bywater was to be marked by a festival to celebrate the liberation of the Shire, to acknowledge the greatest military victory every experienced by her people. Plans had been in the works for weeks, pavilions set up, food prepared. There was an air of excitement not felt since Bilbo’s long ago birthday party in the air.

The Travellers were to be guests of highest honour, for without them, it would not have been possible.

But one traveller had small desire to take part in the festivities. Frodo slipped away as soon as he could, leaving the party field with its new tree, heading back up the hill to Bag End. He pulled his too-large coat tighter around him, against the slight chill in the air. Even with proper hobbit-sized meals, he couldn’t seem to regain the weight the quest had taken from him, and he hadn’t the heart to add to Rosie’s work by asking her to cut down his old clothes. Few enough saw him, after all, so it hardly mattered how he looked.

Nor did it matter now, as he sought the solitude of his restored garden, retreating to a bench beneath a few trees, elven cloak nearly hiding him from view. Frodo sighed as the sounds of merriment floated up the hill, and he raised his hand to touch the elven jewel at his throat. Many were the times since the Lady Arwen had given it to him, that he’d marvelled at her insight. Often had his hand wandered to his throat, since the end of the quest, yet now his fingers were soothed by the angles and hard lines of the jewel, so different from the heavy smoothness of the Ring. Its bright light brought a healthier comfort, but one he needed more and more, as time went on.

Another burst of laughter from the field, and Frodo sighed. He envied Merry and Pippin, and even Sam. They’d all seemed to slip back into life here, to find their places again. It seemed he was the only one who felt adrift, lost in what should’ve been home, now healed of all Saruman had done to it.

Sunk in his thoughts, Frodo didn’t hear the footsteps until they were nearly upon them. He smiled slightly to himself, though, realizing he should’ve known Sam, at least, would miss him.

Which was why the too tall shape that came around the path surprised him. “Merry?”

Merry smiled, nodding and settling down on the bench beside him. “Aye. I take it you weren’t expecting me?”

Frodo returned the smile, though his own was softer. “No. I would’ve thought...”

“That Sam would’ve come for you,” Merry finished for him. “I had to convince him to stay, but as Rosie drew him onto the dance floor right after, I didn’t have too hard a time of it.”

Frodo smiled again, watching as Merry pulled his pipe out and filled it. His cousin was in armour, as befitted a Captain of battle, and Frodo was again struck by how natural he looked in it. There were times, now, when he wondered if he really knew his younger cousin at all...so much had changed with the quest, in the time they’d spent apart. “I was going to say I wouldn’t have thought anyone would miss me,” Frodo went on. “This is more in your honour, than mine.”

Merry raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer until he’d lit his pipe, and blown a lazy smoke ring. “Mmm, perhaps. I’m still glad enough to escape it for a bit. Though I did tell Sam I’d check on you, I doubt very much that you needed me to.”

“Why would you want to leave?” Frodo asked in surprise. “You’re a hero to them.”

“Aye.” Merry smoked in silence for a moment. “And even a year later, that’s almost all I am. Pip and I aren’t only staying in Crickhollow for the privacy, you know.” He took another long drag on his pipe. “I know more than a few didn’t understand why you wouldn’t fight, last year, Fro. But nearly the same number at home are still ill-at-ease that Pippin and I would.”

Frodo blinked, and simply watched Merry for a time, before nodding slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “That it would be as hard for the two of you, as for me. I’ve been used to being thought queer, since long before we left, but now...” He shook his head. “It’s almost harder watching Sam. He thinks I should be given some sort of due, some sort of respect I’m not. He insisted I should be at the high table, tonight.”

“He’s right, in a way, but I can hardly think you mind the anonymity,” Merry replied. He returned to smoking in silence when Frodo didn’t answer, finally knocking the charred weed from his pipe with a sigh, setting it aside. “They don’t understand. Even after Sharkey and his men, after the battle...They don’t understand, here, what we went though. And I’d never want them to, but...”

Frodo looked over, seeing Merry rub his right hand with his left, before consciously stopping himself and wrapping his fingers around his sword hilt. Only then did Frodo notice he wore it on the opposite side than he had before the battle on the Pelennor. Smiling grimly, Frodo flexed the fingers of his left hand, before again touching Arwen’s jewel.

“You have ties here, Merry,” Frodo said after a moment. “And Pippin understands. Better than anyone else could, I think. You went through so many of the same things.”

“You have Sam,” Merry offered, though his tone proved he knew it was not the same.

He and Frodo had talked more than once, since their return, and each time had left Merry feeling more helpless, Frodo knew. He wished sometimes there was something he could say, to soothe his cousin’s fears. But he could never find the words. Nor was he certain he should try, when he didn’t know the answers himself.

“Rosie has Sam,” Frodo replied softly. “Or she should, at the least. I was selfish to ask them to come and live with me. I already knew he was torn in both directions...”

“And he’s not whole without you, Fro, so stop being ridiculous,” Merry replied, though his tone was gentle. “You always were too obstinate, in the face of love.”

Frodo let a soft smile cross his face, in response to the one suddenly in Merry’s eyes. “You were too young,” he replied, feeling the darkness within him lift, in the memory of years long past.

“Mmm, probably. But I still knew I loved you.” Merry leaned forward, cupping Frodo’s cheek in one hand, pulling him close and kissing him, very softly. “I still do, cousin Frodo.”

Frodo flushed, almost surprised he still could, and pulled gently away from Merry’s touch, but only after another soft kiss. “Pippin...”

“Knows what you were to me, and knows he’s first in my heart,” Merry answered evenly. “He would not begrudge us the time.” He smiled, suddenly, and shook his head. “In fact, he thinks it would be good for you, perhaps bring you back to yourself. But he looks on some things as being simpler than I think they are.”

Frodo found not only could he blush, but he could blush quite deeply. “That Took...”

“Indeed.” Merry smiled softly. “Will you have me, Frodo? For the night?”

Frodo hesitated, for a very long moment, aching with the surety of his answer. How he wanted to say yes, to take Merry to his bed, to share the physical comforts he’d once taught his cousin, so many years ago. How he wanted to lose himself in the other’s arms, his body, forget everything but love and heat and passion, if only for a night. He closed his eyes, arms wrapping around himself, trying to gather the courage.

“You don’t have to,” Merry said, very gently, very kindly. “I won’t ask you for anything you cannot freely give me, Frodo.”

“I wish...”

Merry nodded, reaching over and squeezing Frodo’s thigh lightly, before leaning back once more. “I understand, as much as I can.”

Silence fell over them again, as Frodo gradually regained his composure, still not meeting Merry’s eyes. The very thought that Frodo Baggins would turn down such an offer would’ve been unthinkable, only a bit more than two years before. Now...Now he couldn’t even imagine himself with another. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, finally.

“So am I, but only for you,” Merry replied, just as softly. “Frodo...” He stopped, biting his lower lip.

Frodo looked up. “What is it, Mer?”

“You’re not going to stay, are you? Here, I mean. Not for long.”

Frodo smiled slightly and shook his head. “I don’t expect to, no. I have enough to keep me occupied, now, writing our story, putting Bilbo’s notes in order... But no. I doubt I’ll be here, in a year. I don’t think...I don’t know if I could manage another October.”

Merry nodded, again rubbing his right hand. “March is enough for me, I can’t imagine how it must be for you. I will tell no one, I promise. Including Pippin, if you’d prefer.”

“You’re not going to convince me to stay?” Frodo asked, almost surprised.

“No,” Merry answered, a sad smile one his face. “No, Frodo, some wounds go too deep, and I don’t think you’ll find healing, here. I would’ve given you my own brand of it, but it’s too late for that. I will miss you, though, when you leave us.”

Frodo saw Merry’s eyes were bright with tears and he deeply wished he could shed some of his own. “I will miss you, as well. Oh Merry...”

Merry hugged him, tightly, and Frodo managed to return the embrace with equal strength, ignoring the press of Merry’s armour against his skin. For a long moment they held each other, the silence heavy with everything they could not say.

Finally, Merry pulled away, and kissed Frodo one last time. “I will tell Sam you are well, but tired, and have gone to bed. Frodo, I...” But he stopped, and managed a smile, making no move to wipe away the tears now sliding down his face.

“I know,” Frodo replied, reaching up and smoothing the tears away, as he had so often when his cousin was young, not the tall warrior in front of him. “I do. And thank you, Merry. More than I can say, thank you.” He finished drying the tears, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss against Merry’s lips. “Go to Pippin.”

Merry nodded, and with one final, bone-crushing hug, he was gone, leaving Frodo once more alone, with only the sound of distant merriment to keep him company.

Frodo watched him go, feeling the warmth—the hope—seep out of him as his cousin disappeared back into the lights, the party, the people who no longer had a place for him. He yearned for the light, but turned away from it, wrapping his cloak once more around him.

The former Ringbearer took hold of his elven jewel, hidden in the night, alone among his countrymen.


End file.
